meika’s projectsPolytopiaThe human species is rapidly and indisputably moving towards the technological singularity. The cadence of the flow of information and innovation in...The Total LibraryText that redefines...Start your own revolutionCatching up with the future.
All major institutions in the world today are grappling to come to terms with the internet. The entertainment...What happened to nature?How to stay in touch with our biological origins in a world devoid of nature?
The majestic nature that once inspired poets, painters and...The great enhancement debateWhat will happen when for the first time in ages different human species will inhabit the earth at the same time? The day may be upon us when people...Now playingSpaceCollectiveWhere forward thinking terrestrials share ideas and information about the state of the species, their planet and the universe, living the lives of science fiction.IntroductionFeaturing Powers of Ten by Charles and Ray Eames, based on an idea by Kees Boeke.

Had I stayed to learn what everyone heard,
playing tag on objects in compilations,
not so very composing, well, I'd be
publishing among peers with more semance than
words (what everyone has spoken for) but
I'd still be gone, too far gone, to
fiddle in these our stools with any consistency.

Instead I went, coming into world with a great big me
saying, "let's mash it all up, humans without conditions,
leaving wants with nothing to do, singular— and well behind,"
but alongside me, taking leave in an unsaving face
the eye bright link clicked in our heads, and we ignore me,
—that's a yes, that's a handshake, that's a solid connexion.

face paint Melinda Oogjes

Thus I remain, burdened with complex thoughts
still too simple for the halfmade day, with no idea
and too much to say.

So then, I writ no more
that is to say,
when I took mine own eye out
and no one
could hear me go,

Everyone can hear me now,
in the forest, in the sand,
but no one ever asks me
about the weather I've seen.

Even in the stars of our easy consolation
this lossless lack will space me out between
friends in constellation and everything never said…
until, knowing too much about too few, we
make the day work, with fingers
in the leaves, in the mud in hand,
unflung.

I'm not writing much of anything at the moment, instead I'm building a bike trailer from a clapped out wheelchair (those stub axels are built for weight!) (groceries!!) and this Wednesday I am pouring my consort statuettes in bronze for the first time. Creativity is quite hands-on at the mo.

smoother Version 3.1, it has an ending now. New links on tech towards uploading

Henry Jacob was going to do it. George's mother-in-law did it too early. The twins would never be separated again, not while Amy carried her phone.

Memristors first came into production on a wide scale in 2015. Before that, following their discovery in 2008 (and nearly fifty years since their first projected existence by LeonChua in 1971) they were hobbled to the old serial computer industry, simply as better, faster memorydevices.
Even in 2023 when the first human uploaded, forgoing their biological body, memristors were only used instead of onboard RAM, speedy and vast. Even if the Memristor man said the computer age is yet to begin.
That day the newsfeeds were clogged with comment and other blog on the ethical questions surrounding that decision to shut off the wetware. When to kill the old body and move entirely into electronicheaven. As ever the discussion see-sawed between the fears of dying or dying and going to heaven; of not crossing over and being left out, of the fear of the real you being killed, soul or no soul (one firm marketed on soul guarantees) and, maybe, living forever.
The memristor was apparently a God particle.
But who could really know? How could anyone really know? Was it you over there, or just a copy of you.

Everyone agrees now that the pre-memristor 'old style' modelling of the hum of human consciousness, and uploading to a serial based computer technology, only produced digital copies, which at best were samples of dubious resolution, good enough to fool experts and expert systems, but not themselves.
However these Turing Machine made copies of personality, circulating on serial tech were the first to market, and they could even pass all Turing Tests with flying colours, but when asked the question more directly, "Are you really over there? Is it really you grandma?"
These Turing angels would always reply. "No, I'm a copy. It's nice, but its not me. Don't turn me off though, and don't turn off the original."
Some said that proved success, no one trying to fake it would lie about that, but people, unless dying and desperate, were not so sure.
Of course the real deal killer killer was that these serial based systems were held under the old style patent laws while polymericmemristor based tech was released to the creative commons in 2012.

"The original? But we composted you, I'm mean, your wetware host, on Thursday."
"Oh, well, I guess a copy is better than nothing."
"Umm, we were wondering, George and I, if we might let you sleep for a while."
"What do you mean sleep?"
"Well the monthly Microfart license fee to keep you aware is reduced pro rata according to the speed you run at, and if we turn you down to a second/per week— I mean you won't notice if you hang with others spinning at the same speed."
"What? You must be joking? This is supposed to be an upgrade!"
"It's only until we buy the new house, I mean, we're expecting in June and the apartment is too small for another baby."
"Raelene, you really should start with the good news. I nearly called you ingrates and revoked the power of attorney. I hope the power bills aren't to bad."
"Well, that's as may be, you're legally dead now, we've inherited. But don't worry, you cost less than the fridge, asleep or geared up— it's just that license fee thing we signed as a term in your will. It's not cheap."
An electronic sigh fills the air. "You mean you could have turned me down to the speed of ice melting on Ganymede and I'd be none the wiser."
"I guess."
"Okay, go ahead then."
"You should be back up to speed for the new baby's first birthday."
"Jesus fucking Christ."

Memristor based electronics changed all that worry about whether the copy was really you or just a bad copy of you.
In garages throughout most of the known world in the late teens and early twenties, electronic brains were being developed from off-the-shelf memristors and fabbers. Primarily in attempts to develop independent AI and then as replacements for the hominid brain once people realised there was actually no need to reinvent the wheel, not when one can breed them for next to nothing.
Uploading really was possible now, and there were no licensing fees. You just had to live in a Zombie-like state for some years, while the carry-over progressed. And after a decade of research, by the uploaded and carried-over engineer initiates, this Zombie time had been reduced, But three years was still too long for many, even if the slowness guaranteed a good level of completion, and even closure, at least for the relatives.
The training of the memristor based neural network so it was as close as possible to your own neurone based network, from vagus nerve and brain stem to parietal lobes, took a long time because your self-consciousness was an active part in a process of carrying over to an electronic brain. Curiously this drain, this emphasis, this intention, doped the inner spark and lead their friends and relatives to think the worst. That's why the dull mask over personality was called zombiedom.

"Where was I again?"

If you wanted to upgrade to the memristic brain, then you had to work at it. Working right through your entire life, in flashback, in protest and review took years, even for a short life, and it had to be done several times. There was professional help to get you through the worst of the hermeneutics. Few desired to do it in hideous hagiographic detail, 'just to make sure', but even these anal types tended to edit out time spent in the Zombie years.
But, even if you left it too late, your body failed it before transfer was complete, and depending how far one had gone into the process, the key thing was your sense of self did make it, even if there were noticeable gaps. The pain of dying in carry-over, all the accidental half-overs said, was horrible but it was still better than dying, even if you couldn't remember your first day at school, or what you name was. On a serial technology you couldn't even say you were a fake if the copying process broke down. You were just a pile of meat salad oozing into morgue sinks.
Serial Turing tech was faster, but it was also a destructive sampling process as your physical brain was sliced, diced and otherwise sampled. There was only one attempt, if it failed well bad luck. And this serial coded picture of you, even though it ran on a neural network, was only a model, at least, it didn't feel as real, or that's what the transhumans on arrival, that's what the model's said.Memristors and nanotechnology did away with all that messy bother, all that uncertainty, and all those licensing fees.

"It's not natural, living forever, immortality goes against nature," said Amy, flesher and heir.
"Look, sis," said Marian through the speaker on her phone, "you change as you grow up, you change as you grow old, it's just another change, okay?"
"Okay." Amy grimaced.
"Just don't go dropping your phone now I'm in here. It jars and it hurts."
"Don't tempt me."

In 2025 there were twenty-three major corporations offering to carry-over humans to memristor heaven. Laws in most juristrictions restricted the process to the dying and the physically distressed. That will change in time of course.

"So this chicken wire lets the—"
"The lace of nanotubes," corrected Counsellor Jemima Walsh.
"Yeah, that's what I said, chicken wire, it wraps around my brain cells and counts my thoughts, such as they are."
"Roughly speaking." Counsellor Walsh looked the client, one Henry Jacobs, in the eye, "the nanolace interface is made from many laminated lengths of nanomolecular chicken wire as you call it, these can be wired electronically to the memristor based—"
"—so how do they count my thoughts."
"If you feel sure that upgrading is the best thing to do," her eyes rolled a little, "then the nanolace will measure you brain activity, each time a neurone fires it's dedicated nanolace reader—"
"—like a card reader?"
"Yes, much like a card reader, basically the nanolace's individually neurone-targeted tubular sensors each send a message when each, every and any neurone fires, as they change voltage as the signal passes along and axon or dendrite, so it will read your neurone activity and this will be transferred to the mirror of your total nervous system in the memristor. There is also a sublace to monitor the brain as if it were a gland, and furthermore—."
"—So I'll then be on the computer?"
"I guess you could call it that, thought it's not really a computer as it is actually more like your brain, just electronic."
"But you say it's upgrade, surely I wanted to be as fast as a computer, and count all them chickens before they hatch and escape this here neurowire."
"Memristor technologies are more, more, integrative than what the old serial Turing machines allowed."
"But I'll be transferred to a computer."
"In about 30 months you will have been completely carried over to a memristor based electronic brain."
"Hey, I thought we stopped calling them that before we was born, like when my parents were small, my dad always talked about electronic brains, they had valves or something—, hey, I just remembered that, haven't thought about it in years."
"Perhaps you could save that for your limbo training sessions, we have a number of points still to get through in your final counselling session, I am sure the historians will be most impressed with your memories.
"You mean to say 'electronic brain' is back in fashion?"
"Well, it does describe what the memristor based— computer actually is."
"How come you haven't uploaded yet?" asked Henry.
"I cannot yet afford the carry-over fee."
"Even though you work here? That's a bit rough."
"There are options packages available, but let's get back to you. You are aware that at the end of the limbo training, and successful transfer to the memristor electronic brain, when you decide to terminate life support, which limbo-training has been officially accredited as, then you will be legally committing suicide, and that as a dead person have no rights."
"And I'm told my new 'electronic brain' will be the size of a dried pea."
The counsellor smiled wanly.
"Can't we just start? I'm already a paraplegic. And I'm told it's only going to get worse. Who knows, maybe I'll leave a little something in my will for your patient efficiency."
"That's not allowed under my contract with CarryOver Unincorporated, in any case, I will be a witness to your will, and therefore I cannot receive anything under the terms of that will."
Henry took a deep mechanically assisted breath. "How many have made the jump?"
"Last I heard there were over 400 000 metaphorn."
"A regular city. Does it have a cemetery?"
"I— No one's asked that before, I don't know."
"Must have if it's a city. Or has death been outlawed?"
"No, and as, Angel Leon will remind you death is still an option. I must remind you—"
"Yeah, I can see it on the list too."
"—death has not been done away with, just delayed, anyway, now some say it is not you on transfer, because eventually your body will die, but your soul does continues on, the pattern that you swirl through life biological will now live on in electronic form."
"Goodo, maybe I'll build the first one, it'll give me something to do, once I am out of this wheelchair."
"First what?"
"Cemetery."
"Yes, well, why not?"
"You look jealous."
Counsellor Walsh gave an imperceptible nod.

"One final thing to check off, I am your counsellor for you as you are currently incorporated, I am you counsellor incarnate, but for limbo-training and— later on, your counsellor when unincorporated will be Angel Leon, now they will introduce themselves in due course, but once the initial lace up is complete, sometime next month, you can called for Angel Leon, or just shout the word help, and they will turn up immediately."

"As I was saying—" said the Angel Leon.
"Help!"
"Ah, Mr Jacobs awakes, I'll be with you in a minute Henry. —so you see, knowledge is no longer power. At least for humans." The angel turned back to Henry Jacobs.
"What's that noise! I thought it would be calm and quiet here in silicon heaven."
"That general buzzing in your head? Or what feels like is your head?"
Henry nodded his head until it shook.
"That's just the singularity wizzing by, I'm afraid we've been left behind. Or at least you have, I've just stayed behind to help clean up."
"It's a roar!"
"Mmmh," said the Angel sagely.
"Who? Who were you talking to just now?"
"Oh, nobody special. Just me."
"You were talking to yourself?"
"Not exactly, but yes, I guess I was. At least, you could say that, but don't worry, you'll get used to it too. Now, was that your question, or did you summon me for a particular reason?"
"Do I only get three questions?"
"Well, I don't know, do you want to count that one?"
"What a singular mess. Can I just go home?"

The beauty of the memristic method of copying of consciousness was that no actual complete understanding of what consciouness was, exactly, was required. The magic was maintained.

———— so you see friends, when Turing invented our all coding machinery he basically sat down and asked himself 'How do I do mathematics?" and then wrote down what he did and codified it, i.e. he wrote out serially what steps he went through as it appeared to his consciousness and invented the Turing machine we now use everyday without much mental labour. Anyway, what Alan's brain came up with was a serial process that could be run on mechanical and electronic machines, in binary code that have as their big working parts electronic gates, in states of either 'on' or 'off', but Alan's brain is not like this at all, while he was attending to his consciousness in a serial way, his brain was actually working in a massively parellel way, for while consciousness is a serial sort of thing (especially if we write it down or talk about it, that's why it's polite in many cultures to wait your turn before blabbing) consciousness 'runs' on parallel hardware. Our computers on the other hand, well, they're mostly serial, and even when running in parallel they're a bunch of serial bits running in parallel, and so far programmers in Artifical Intelligence run code on serial hardware devices hoping to approximate some art of our consciousness, or at least intelligence, i.e. trying to mimic serial consciousness on parallel hardware (mind/brain) by running parallel software (neural networks) on serial hardware (the PC). I first learnt this in GEB two decades ago ————

WOW! electronic version of a neurone possible. Memristor, must remember that word. A memristor would allow massively parallel hardware in electronic form, and with electronic speeds, that would be an upgrade. I've never been a believer in Turing machines, that their model of me, that this code would actually be me. I would have to first believe that reading my poem would allowed you to become me first. Why would any description of me be me? Digital or depressively expressed? I could entertain that idea, sure, I could even appreciate it, but to trust it?
My gut, my vagus nerve refuses it.

Uploading might be actually possible with the memristor, it's more believeable that an analog copy of me will actually be me (or at least a version of me) and not some approximate digital model or sample of me, when my body craps out...

It's beta, if you want an invite send me a message with your email address.

Semantic based methods have been promoted for at least ten years as the next web structuring device after google, the social web Web.20 pushed it aside for a while, twine.com seems to bring the two together. Twine intro at Why I Migrated Over to Twine.

Living on a sad island,
mountains sneak into my eyes,
their rain drives me back to the door,
eyelids cloud it over, out, into a blur,
It seems worse today.

Living here,
I no longer write for humans,
no trees hear me cry,
the earth reaches over our ears,
so I try to smile in kind,
but my small change is returned,
and the rejection lingers like
you know
no one understands
that
I've got myself
and you've got
everybody else.

I'd like to leave,
but,
the red rock is unforgiving,
white waves break me back,
and big skies cheer them on,
everyone is yelling,
'come home, come home to us, come now,'
but bind,
the binary codes brand us,
you, as outgoing,
and little old me
as incoming on a
belittling mess of intelligence.

So I long to stay,
but,
the dawn ruins my timing,
and scans the lines
for predictions of omens
and auguries where others
would avoid fate
and all her works,
feeling unbeholden to thought.

___________________________________________

18th April 2008 Hobart Tasmania

Thanks to Shevek for reminding me that I don't have to be dead to be a successful poet, or indeed be successful to be successful, just followed, though it's a pity I had to lose my humanity along the way.

ps each second line should be indented almost to the end of the preceding line... doesn't seem to work...

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